Missing Scenes
by JunoMagic
Summary: Drabbles, droubles, tribbles, quabbles, quibbles and ficlets with missing scenes from 'The Apprentice and the Necromancer'. The results of the 'Demand a Drabble' game in my forum.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of **Joanne K. Rowling** and **Garth Nix**. Any characters, settings, places from the Harry Potter books and movies used in this work are the property of Joanne K. Rowling, and Warner Brothers; any concepts, items and settings from the Abhorsen books used in this work are the property of Garth Nix. Original characters, settings and concepts belong to the author of this work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the private enjoyment of readers at FanFictionNet, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

All characters, places and events in this story are either the products of the relevant author's imagination or they are used entirely fictiously.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**Drabbles, droubles, tribbles, quabbles, quibbles and ficlets with missing scenes from "The Apprentice and the Necromancer"**

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Sometime between chapters 12 and 25 of "Apprentice"**

Bemused, Bill Weasley gazed at his old trunk. After six years at Hogwarts and seven years in Egypt it looked rather battered and shabby.

Fleur frowned and pulled her wand from her elegant chignon. Humming under her breath, she waved it as if she was directing an invisible orchestra.

When she fell silent, the trunk gleamed: polished black leather, golden fixtures, embossed with the Weasley family crest and the Hogwarts coat of arms.

Bill gathered her into his arms. _"Ah, Weed,_ what shall I do without you?"

"Do a good job. Be a good teacher. And don't forget to write."

**oooOooo**

The classroom still smelled exactly the way he remembered. Dusty parchments mixed with floor polish, the acrid whiff of defensive spells infused with the stale smell of boredom. He lowered his trunk, went to the second to last desk on the left-hand side and sat down. Someone had added a frame to the snitch he'd etched into the wood.

"Bill?"

He turned and rose. "Headmistress McGonagall."

"It's Minerva, silly boy."

Bill ducked his head and grinned. "Now I feel at home. How do you do that, Minerva? Make us still feel like firsties?"

She smiled. "I _remember_ you as one."

**oooOooo**

**After chapter 27 of "Apprentice"**

"I am Bill Weasley, and I will be your teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Let's get some things straight right away.

"If you think you can laze about in this class, because I'll be gone next year, you will be disappointed. You won't get rid of me that easily. I have a family to take care of. Therefore the first thing I did when I took this job was breaking the curse that was attached to it.

"If you believe that certain family connections guarantee that I have a sense of humour, you are sorely mistaken. They only guarantee that I am able to spot my brothers' products quicker than any of my colleagues. - Mr. Vaisey, I suggest you rethink the decision to use that Patented Daydream Charm. I know a spell that will turn it into a nightmare.

"If you are afraid that I'm a werewolf - Miss Callahan, flinching won't help you fight off a werewolf, Sectumsempra is more useful, trust me on that - I can lay your fears to rest. That would be one of my predecessors." Bill grinned wolfishly. "However, that doesn't mean I don't bite. And now open your books on page 37, please."

**oooOooo**

**Sometime between chapter 25 and 49 of "Apprentice"**

Once again Professor Weasley concluded his rounds on the Fifth Floor in the East Wing. Ropes secured a path through a sprawling swamp. A white stone near the window offered an explanation:  
_  
"Even arse-deep in alligators, he could create a swamp.  
Fred Weasley, April 1, 1978 - May 2, 1998″_

Noticing the flickering light of a Hinkypunk, Bill drew his wand. Professor Vector wouldn't appreciate it if her students got lost on their way to class.

_On the other hand …_ Bill hesitated. _Fred would certainly get a kick out of that.  
_  
Grinning, Professor Weasley sheathed his wand again and left.

**oooOooo**

**After chapter 49 of "Apprentice"**

With feral pleasure Bill eyed the bloody steak on his plate. The DADA teacher stuck his fork into the meat almost viciously, muttering "Little Knights, my arse." under his breath.

Snape raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "Bit of an appetite for … _meat_ … tonight?" he asked silkily.

Bill snorted. "The moon is still full, what do you think, mate? _A grrrreat time forrr rrred meat,"_ he growled and noticed with satisfaction how certain students blanched at the sound.

Turning back to Snape, he rolled his eyes. Merlin, where had the man misplaced his sense of humour? But then Bill realised how pale the Potions master was. Apart from everything else, almost losing one of his students must have shaken Snape badly.

"Want some beer?" he offered, pulling another bottle from his robe.

Snape glared at him suspiciously, but accepted the Pilsener.

"Little Idiots would be a better term," Bill grumbled. Myrrdin Loewe, Barret Cruddace, Adrastus Alger, Terrwyn Bevan and their idea of knightly honour had managed to ruin his free evenings for the rest of the school year. "And that includes the damn fools from my House." He raised his goblet. "Cheers, Severus."

To his surprise, Snape returned the toast.

**oooOooo**

**Around the time of chapter 56 of "Apprentice"**

Today her letter smelled of baby powder and lilacs. When his gaze lingered on her signature - _"Your quite unruly Weed"_ - the giggling of a baby drifted to his ears. Bill smiled. Fleur always did that, adding scent and sound to her letters.

He imagined her, windblown and sunburnt, _"unruly" _after a day of gardening. His precious, pretty Weed … and the Weedlet, already just as beautiful as her mum …

Sighing, Bill crossed off another day on his calendar. 79 days until the hols.

Until he could carry Fleur off into the bedroom for some serious _"weeding" _of his own.

**oooOooo**

**Sometime after chapter 239 of "Apprentice"**

He discovered Alina sitting on the wall of the rose garden. Her ubiquitous parchment and quill lay curled up on the ground. Above her, the phoenix Woodstock was indulging in wild aerial acrobatics. Outwardly, Alina appeared unchanged - still the dark-haired, smart girl with the pert grin. Her adventures had left no visible trace.

Bill produced a piece of parchment. _"How are you?"_

She shrugged, but her eyes were filled with shadows.

Bill sat down next to her with a sigh. Involuntarily, his hand went up to the very noticeable scars on his face. _"Not all scars are visible,"_ he wrote.

**oooOooo**

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**A/N: **A drabble has exactly one hundred words as counted by MS Word.

A drouble has two hundred, a tribble three hundred, a quabble four hundred, a quibble five hundred and small stories with more than five hundred words are usually called ficlet.

The drabble challenge in my forums is still open. Follow the link at the bottom of my profile and request a drabble for a missing scene from "Apprentice"!


	2. Chapter 2

**At some point between chapter 33 and 88**

Without a word, Snape held out his hand.

Hermione winced. For a split second, she wanted to turn on her heels and run for it. But she was a Gryffindor. And besides, he could fly. He'd catch her before she reached the Apparition point. Biting down hard on her quivering lip, Hermione handed over the scorched, dark-green journal.

For a long moment, her master stared at the book. Then he turned away. Hermione didn't move, she hardly dared to breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut.

The sound of pages being turned echoed noisily in the laboratory.

The swishing sound of robes forced her to open her eyes again. Snape was staring at her, his gaze unfathomable. "I was not aware that this still existed," he remarked in low voice that was still a little rough around the edges of certain sounds. "No doubt a gift from that imbecile Potter."

He raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Hermione gulped and nodded. "Yes, sir."

Contemplatively Snape opened the book at a seemingly random page.

_"I wonder if Muggles sometimes use potions without knowing what they are doing,"_ he read. _"Those herbal mixtures that Mrs. Fian sells, for example. Their ingredients are also used in potions."_

He gave Hermione a long look.

_"Forget about the Muggles. You're a witch now,"_ he added.

He turned a few pages. _"Severus was right about Muggles. They are a pain in the arse. Especially my sister. She actually believes that Aspirin can cure lovesickness. There's not even a _potion_ for that."_

Hermione knew the next words by heart. _"Damn you, Severus."_

With a slow, precise gesture, Snape laid the book on the table.

"You don't need this journal," he said curtly. _"Or_ my old potions book. You're supposed to be a Gryffindor. How about a little self-confidence, Miss Granger?"

**oooOooo**

**Shortly before chapter 77 of "Apprentice"**

"Come on, ring it!" Roger de Audebert challenged. "Or are you scared of an itty-bitty bell?"

He was an exchange student from Beauxbatons and an absolute git. Alina tightened her grip around the mahogany handle. Of course she was not afraid of the bell. It was just a toy! Still, something made her hesitate.

"Yes, please," begged Geilis, "I want to know what it sounds like!"

Geilis reminded her of a puppy. A little spaniel; all flying ears, wagging tail and clumsy paws.

Ciardha Vaisey groaned. "Do it or shut up, kids, will you?"

Suddenly annoyed, Alina rang her bell.

**oooOooo**

**Sometime before chapter 243 of "Apprentice"**

The room was a wreckage: the table reduced to a heap of splintered wood, the bed trashed.

The girl lay collapsed on the mattress. Rushing to her side, Sister Claire realised with relief that she had only fainted. Examining her more closely, Sister Claire winced. The girl's hands were covered with blood, nails were torn off, splinters stuck deeply embedded in her palms.

_The poor girl,_ the nun thought.

Not for the first time Sister Claire wondered what had had broken the mind of the bishop's illegitimate daughter as completely as she had broken the furniture of her cell …

**oooOooo**

**Within chapter 246 of "Apprentice"**

_Somehow they will find me._

Hermione looked at her list for the best case scenario for a long time. She grew aware of her breathing. Soft and steady. Of her heartbeat. Slow and regular. Of her weariness. Her bones ached with it. The gentle voices of the nuns rose in song. The evening prayer. Sunlight painted the walls of Hermione's cell golden.

_No one will find me._

Another breath.

_They are all dead._

But her heart kept beating.

_One day, I will die here._

An odd sense of peace enveloped her. She deleted the list and switched off the laptop.

**oooOooo**

**At the end of chapter 248 of "Apprentice"**

Docile under a Ministry-sanctioned _Imperius,_ the nun opened the door of the cell. Severus needed all his willpower not to rush inside and simply grab Hermione.

He almost gasped in the crushing grip of the wards. He wore a talisman so his power could not be drained, but he would not be able to use magic. A sensible precaution – no one knew if Hermione was still sane after seventeen months imprisoned in this cell. And he knew from experience just how dangerous an insane witch was, even without a wand.

_But surely not Hermione. Not his own, foolish Gryffindor._

Swallowing hard, he stepped inside.

She lay on her back, on a threadbare mattress. At first he only noticed her hair, bushy, brown, matted, a veritable rat's nest. Then her eyes. They were huge and dark in a tiny, pinched face. Sightlessly, she stared up at the ceiling. She did not react to his presence at all. Slowly he knelt down next to her.

She was so pale that she appeared nearly translucent. He could see the delicate blue-green spiderweb of the veins underneath her skin. For second, icy fear gripped his heart – was she still breathing at all? But a moment of close scrutiny revealed the shallow, barely perceptible rhythm of her breathing.

Severus crouched over her.

"Hermione," he whispered.

Nothing.

"Hermione," he repeated.

Abruptly she inhaled, a painful, shuddering breath. Her eyes moved, but remained unfocused. He wondered what she was seeing.

Suddenly: "So this is death."

Her voice was thin and hoarse. He could hardly understand her. But she smiled. A tremulous, relieved smile of unbearable sweetness. He wanted to shake her and shout at her, but he didn't even dare to touch her. His hands, reaching for her, were hovering midair, shaking –

"Dumbledore was wrong, you know," she rasped, still not looking at him. "It's not an adventure. It's the most beautiful dream I've ever had."

With a sigh, her eyes drifted shut.

"This is not a dream, Hermione," he said. "And you are _not_ dying." His hands curled around her thin arms and pulled her into his embrace. "Please," Severus begged, "open your eyes. Please."

But she did not react. Her eyes closed, she lay limp in his arms. Severus staggered to his feet. Carrying his wife, he stumbled from the cell.

_This can't be the end,_ he thought. _Please, don't let it end like this._

**oooOooo**

**Between chapter 248 and 249**

Severus brought her home that first night. Apparating to the back of the gardens, he carried her through the bronze light of the September evening and the heavy perfume of the rose garden to the castle.

A mere wisp of a woman now, Hermione felt fragile and feeble like a kitten in his arms. She had buried her face against him and a shudder accompanied her every breath.

The house-elves had prepared their bedroom. The windows were wide open, the breeze from the lake still mellow. The bed was made up with new sheets.

Severus went to Hermione's side of the bed and gently lowered her. When she wouldn't let go of him, he took her hands and lay down next to her. A silent, wandless spell disrobed them.

But before he could conjure up nightshirts, she shook her head.

"No," Hermione whispered. "No. Let me feel you. Please."

He hesitated, uncertain if this was wise, aware as he was of her delicate emotional state.

"Please," she repeated. He acquiesced and drew her against him. Pressed against him, he could feel every rib when she breathed. She was so thin. Scars covered her hands and her wrists. Gently, he pulled her hand to his lips.

"I love you," he said quietly.

"I dreamed of you," Hermione said, her breathing harsh, at last only gasps away from tears. "I knew you were dead, yet I kept dreaming of you. Like this. Naked. Holding me. Kissing me. Making love to me. I lay in that cell, and I knew I had killed you, and when I masturbated, I screamed your name."

She was shaking like a leaf now.

"I am not dead. You did not kill me," he said softly. "I am alive. – I love you."

And then, finally, she started crying.

**oooOooo**

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**A/N: **A drabble has exactly one hundred words as counted by MS Word.

A drouble has two hundred, a tribble three hundred, a quabble four hundred, a quibble five hundred and small stories with more than five hundred words are usually called ficlet.

The drabble challenge in my forums is still open. Follow the link at the bottom of my profile and request a drabble for a missing scene from "Apprentice"!


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